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Wilson 

Yj- or the 

Kaiser 

from tile story 

by 

Maxwell Kar^er 

IS^elizecL by 'Jamt^nesi 



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WILSON 

OR 

The KAISER? 


A Novel of To-Day 
After the Story by 

MAXWELL KARGER 




Copyright 1918, 

By Metro Pictures Corporation. 


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WILSON OR THE KAISER? 


CHAPTER I 
Lad’s Love 

All his life Conrad Boehm had loved little 
Vilma Liebrecht. Ever since the days when he 
used to ride her on his sled, in the glorious snow 
of a crisp, cold winter, and taking off her mit- 
tens, warm her hands between his own, his heart 
had gone out to her in a great wave of love and 
longing, which now, a man grown, he had only 
recently begun to understand. 

“Forget-me-not,” he often called her, and it 
was as a forget-me-not that he often thought of 
her. She was so sweet, so appealing, as her dear 
blue eyes followed him about. “Forget-me-not,” 
he had murmured, thinking aloud, when he left 
their little suburb to go away and study at the 
gymnasium. “Fergiss-mein-nicht!” 

And Vilma, in sweet misunderstanding, had 
made reply, “No, Conrad, I won’t. I will never 
forget you.” 

He dared not tell the other lads of his age 
about Vilma. They would have jeered and hoot- 
ed at him for a “softie.” A true German youth 
must not be a “softie.” He must think only of 
his Kaiser and his “Gott,” — true, the Kaiser came 
first, in this strange land. 


3 


So Conrad Boehm’s first love-notes were lim- 
ited to such expressions as: “I am well. I hope 
you are well. Your sincere friend, Conrad.” 
Besides, under the rigid discipline qf fhe schools, 
the youtfi became more and more martial, more 
and more hypnotized by the idea of German su- 
premacy and the destiny of the great German na- 
tion. ^^Deutschland iiher ' alles^^^ and the Kaiser 
^Hiber Deutschland/^ was his ideal. And trust- 
ing little Vilma, herself the daughter of a sol- 
dier, would have echoed the sentiment as being 
the holiest a Subject of the Imperial Government 
could entertain. 

But far away across the sea, in that golden land 
of America, lived Conrad’s cousin Albert, born 
in the same year, like him in the vigor of sturdy 
youth, but wholly unlike him in training and hab- 
its of thought. Albert had never been taught to 
believe that the United States must rule the world. 
If the truth were known, his thoughts were prin- 
cipally of baseball — -and cif dark-eyed Kitty Blake. 
Not that he would have dared to tell her so, or 
even admit it to himself. 

“You play a smashing good game of tennis — 
for a kid,” was the nearest to a compliment that 
she had ever received from him. But Kitty only 
shook her dark curls and smiled — Kitty knew. 

It was not until Albert went to Princeton that 
he began to show a real interest in anything wider 
in scope than the ^‘world’s series.” At Princeton 
he began to think, led by the example of a master- 
mind, the simple, unostentatious “Prexy,” who 
smiled at him in greeting when they happened to 
meet on the campus. 

“Why, do you know,” he unburdened himself 


4 


to Kitty and her mother, on the Blakes- porch, 
one evening, “he’s got the bulliest ideas, that 
Prexy of mine. M-akes a fellow glad to be alive 
in the same world with him, sort of following 
along and thinking his thoughts after him.” 

Mrs. Blake laughed gently. “Oh, you don’t 
need to press-agent Woodrow Wilson to this fam- 
ily. I went to Bryn Mawr, remember. He 
taught me all I know of political science — and a 
good deal about a sane viewpoint on life.” 

“Well, he’s put his ideas in practice by doing a 
lot for us undergrads,” continued Albert. “He’s 
going to run for Governor, and I’m willing to bet 
good coin of the realm that he wins that or any- 
thing else he wants to undertake.” 

“So am I,” said Mrs. Blake. “Though I don’t 
think he wants much for himself. He has some 
high-minded ideas about altruism.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” in- 
terrupted Kitty, coming out of the house with 
some sort of tulle arrangement about her head, 
“but I am entirely ready to go to the Holworthy 
dance. I’ve been resting up for it all day.” 

“So glad I feel strong this evening,” laughed 
Albert. “Come along, and I’ll tell you my im- 
portant news on the way over.” 

“Fact is,” he confided, as they passed under 
the trees, “dad has had a run of luck and given 
me my choice of anything I want for a birthday 
present. I chose that trip to Germany I’ve al- 
ways wanted to make to see my relatives. My 
cousin Conrad is just my age, you know, and we’ve 
corresponded always. He has learned English, 
and I’ve learned German, and we alternate lan- 
guages in the letters. At first he wanted me to 


5 


correct him when he made mistakes, but by now 
he writes as good English as I do. It’s kept me 
up to the mark being an example to Cousin Con- 
rad.” 

‘‘When do you go?” asked Kitty. 

“Next summer, just as soon as college is out. 
I want the benefit of the whole three months.” 

“Wdl,” said Kitty, “I have visions of myself 
being a porch wren this summer, with no one to 
talk to.” 

Albert laughed. “You! Any time! I only 
wish I believed it ! But here is where Jim Denni- 
son will get in his innings.” 

“Any time!” repeated Kitty scornfully. No 
sentimental love-words these, but they warmed the 
hearts of this young man and maid. Each knew 
that the other would wait patiently and loyally, 
even if seas should divide them. 


6 


CHAPTER II 


A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 

To Conrad’s home, to Munich, went Albert, 
and the two cousins had glorious times together. 
In Munich Albert found another Montmartre, an- 
other Washington Square. There he saw the 
free — somewhat too free — life of the art stu- 
dents, the bobbed hair of the girls and the flow- 
ing ties of the men giving slight indication of the 
larger revolt against conventions. Albert was a 
healthy-minded youth, and the pale immoralities 
here did not appeal to him. Rather he preferred 
the more natural life of the animals in the Thier- 
garten. “Always did love a circus,” he said. 

He was delighted with Vilma Liebrecht, to 
whom Conrad rather shyly introduced him. “Say, 
isn’t she the appealing little thing!” exclaimed Al- 
bert. “Makes you think of a flower, somehow — 
a flower that won’t stand the storm. She’s a lit- 
tle queen, old chap. But, say ” In a burst 

of confidence he showed his cousin a snapshot of 
Kitty Blake in tennis costume. “Some girl!” was 
his only comment. But Conrad understood. 

The land of Kultiir held many fascinations for 
Albert — principally because he could not under- 
stand it. The German process of reasoning, the 
German point of view, left him baffled. 

“The Kaiser says — the Kaiser thinks — don’t 
you Germans ever do any of your own thinking?” 


7 


he expostulated one day. 

‘‘Certainly,” replied the youth, warmly loyal 
to his Fatherland. “Nietzsche has thought, 
Treitschke has thought, the Kaiser has thought — 
but we all think the same ^ — ^Deutschland ilher 
allesr^ 

“How curious!” commented Albert. “I really 
believe you mean it. You make men of less im- 
portance than the state. Hearts and souls aren’t 
as big to you as the material things. The glory 
of the Kaiser’s sword is tlie greatest thing in the 
world to you Germans. Well, I don’t know what 
kind of a rhan your Kaiser must be to permit it. 
I should think he v/ould be ashamed to look the 
humblest of you in the face.” 

“Don’t speak so of the AllerJidchste PcrsonT^ 
gasped Conrad. He was truly shocked. Besides, 
he was painfully afraid some one in authority 
might overhear his cousin’s utterances. “Nat- 
urally, the state matters more than any of us, or 
than all of us put together.” 

“Now I don’t agree with you, Conrad,” said 
Albert, in straightforward American fashion. 
“And there’s a wdiole nation across the water that 
doesn’t agree with you, either. I wish you could 
just hear my Prexy talk. At least, he used to be 
Prex — he’s Governor of New Jersey now. Say,” 
he exclaimed, in an outburst of enthusiasm, “he’s 
just the greatest man in the world!” 

“Except the Kaiser,” said Conrad. 

“Kaiser or no Kaiser,” insisted Albert. These 
two youths were violently partisan in their hero- 
worship. 

But Conrad, being a good student, w^o anxious 
to be informed about this man across the seas 


8 


who had so won his cousin’s admiration. “What 
are the ideas of this Wilson?” 

“Well, in a way,” began Albert, launching forth 
happily on his pet subject, “there is a similarity in 
the two men we’ve been talking about, in this re- 
spect: Each seems to be the mouthpiece of his 
nation. Germany stands for Kultur as the bul- 
wark of the state, and the Kaiser expresses that. 
America, since the very moment of her birth” — 
— and Albert threw out his chest in happy pride — 
“has stood for the rights of humanity. ■ Wilson 
expresses that. I tell you, that man will go far, 
but never for his own sake. Always it will be for 
the sake of an ideal.” 

“Ideals butter no bread,” objected the German 
lad. 

“Now you’re talking like a materialist — like 
the Kaiser,” said Albert. “And that just goes to 
show the difference. We believe in right for its 
own sake. And you believe that might makes 
right. But that is only what you’ve been taught, 
Conrad, I can see that plainly. Underneath, you 
are just as idealistic as any American — as Lafay- 
ette was — as Wilson is. I can tell that by the way 
you look at Vilma.” 

“V ergiss-mein-nicht,” muttered Conrad. 

“What did you say?” 

“Nothing.” Conrad reddened. 

“Well, if you’re like that, there must be other 
Germans like you. And some time your Kaiser 
is going to be in for a great old awakening.” 

“Oh, you mustn’t say such things. It’s ‘V er- 
boten.’ ” 

Albert threw back his head and laughed mer- 
rily. “ ‘Verboten.’ Of course, you poor fish. 


9 


everything that’s any good in this Kultur4and of 
yours is erhoten! Well, you’re a good kid, and 
awfully kind to your mother, and I hope you get 
along. I only wish all Prussians were like you.” 

“We are all loyal to the Emperor,” insisted 
Conrad. 

“Of course you are. It’s erhoten* to be any- 
thing else,” teased Albert. “But wasn’t he the 
gabby party in that interview to the Telegraph 
three years ago? And how about the Agadir 
affair? Wasn’t that a blunder — even if the 
Kaiser did do it?” 

“England has been trying hard to get us into 
trouble. The Kaiser can do no wrong,” stoutly 
protested Conrad. 

“All right, have it your own way. But I won- 
der if you’ll say the same ten years from now.” 
In how much shorter a time than that was the 
whole world to learn the truth about the “Peace- 
Lord,” who, unmasking, would throw off his dis- 
guise and come forth shamelessly as a King of 
Battles and of Wanton Destruction! 

For the remainder of Albert’s visit the two 
boys avoided the subject on which their ideas were 
so hopelessly opposed, and they enjoyed them- 
selves as only two healthy young creatures can 
who have not a care in the world. 

After the young American had gone, Conrad 
often thought over his strange utterances. Gen- 
erally he stoutly refused admittance to such “no- 
tions” — the idealistic teachings of the “man 
named Wilson, a college professor, a mere teach- 
er.” But sometimes they found an answering 
echo even in his faithful heart — especially when 
he looked at flaxen-haired Vilma. Then came 


io 


the time for his military service. And In the iron 
rule and rigid discipline of those three years the 
visions of the “man Wilson” and the impracti- 
cable ideas of America, “the great experiment,” 
were forgotten. 


11 


CHAPTER III 


“These Young Folks” 

A NEW emotion now made Itself felt in Con- 
rad’s simple nature, for Vilma’s letters contained 
frequent references to a wonderful ^^Her Leut- 
nanf ^ — Ernst von Bohnen. Not that she cared 
anything about him or the flowers he sent, but her 
old father was pleased and flattered that his 
daughter should have attracted the attention of so 
wohlgeboren a suitor. However, Ernst von 
Bohnen would have smiled at the thought of 
marriage with a girl beneath him socially. Eyes, 
no matter how blue, could not buy the gold lace 
for the future uniforms of his overweening ambi- 
tion, and he had already decided that the scorn- 
ful young heiress, Hertha Kleist, should have that 
privilege. In the meantime, flaxen hair and blue 
eyes were charming as a pastime. 

Conrad felt an unrest for which he could as- 
cribe no sufficient reason. He was not jealous — 
only vaguely apprehensive. In some ways he 
had almost the intuition of a woman. But set- 
ting his firm young jaw and straightening his 
shoulders, he tried to forget his forebodings, as 
daily he drilled and “goose-stepped” with his com- 
rades. 

When Woodrow Wilson became President of 
the United States, in response to the demand of an 
idealistic people, Albert Brown was the happiest 


12 


young man in the world. 

“Why, it just seems too good to be true!” he 
told Kitty. 

“Goodness, I didn’t know you took such an in- 
terest in politics, Albert,” was the girl’s surprised 
answer. 

“Politics, no! But Wilson, yes! I always told 
you that man would be heard from. With his 
constructive idealism ” 

“Careful, there,” she laughed. “Those are 
pretty big words.” 

“Well, we’re a pretty big nation. And with 
this man to lead us, we’ll all be thinking big 
thoughts before we’re through. See if we’re 
not !” 

“But, Albert, I always thought you were a Re- 
publican.” 

“I always thought so, too. Then I became a 
Wilson Republican. And now I shouldn’t be a 
bit surprised if I follow this man wherever he 
leads. I don’t believe I could do better.” 

Albert was delighted at the firm hand the new 
President took in the matter of the currency re- 
form — and grinned happily to himself at his de- 
termination in whipping Congress into line. 

“Stubborn! Of course he is,” he said, in an- 
swer to a teasing remark of Kitty’s. “But you 
don’t accomplish anything worth while in this 
world without being stubborn. Pm stubborn 
myself on. one subject, young lady. And when 
Pve graduated and shown that I can make my 
way as an architect. Pm going to ask you if it’s 

going to do me any good — I mean — I mean ” 

He floundered in the usual manner of the average 
American male youth trying to bare his inmost 


13 


secrets. “Oh, you know what I mean.” 

“Of course I do, stupid! Haven’t I been 
refusing invitations from every one else for 
months?” 

He thought it over. It was true — she had. 
Oh, the wonder that was woman 1 He caught her 
hand and gripped it awkwardly, but she tore away 
from his grasp and ran into the house. And Al- 
bert took himself off down the tree-bordered walk, 
happy as a king. 


14 


CHAPTER IV 


A WORLD DISHONORED 

However, kings are not always happy. In 
the beginning of that year of our Lord, 1914, 
Wilhelm II, Emperor of Germany, was far from 
happy. He was certain that he was the greatest 
man and the greatest Emperor who ever sat on a 
throne. Why, then, did he not have a kingdom 
to correspond? Why should Germany be so 
confined geographically? His people demanded 
room to grow in, his ministers demanded war, he 
himself demanded nothing less than world domin- 
ion, so that all should bow down and worship be- 
fore him. A way must be found — a pretext for 
declaring war, since the attempt at Agadir had 
failed. After that, the rest would be easy, for 
had they not been preparing for many years for 
‘The Day”? 

Was not the Imperial army invincible, and was 
not the navy, the pet of the nation, the creation of 
“Tirpitz the Eternal” — a glorious assemblage of 
dreadnoughts? England must be put in her place. 
Why wait? 

But caution counseled a delay until they could 
appear to be In the right. An opening wedge must 
be made among the Central Powers, and with true 
Prussian cowardice — for a Prussian fears to fight 
an equal foe — the weakest nation of all was cho- 
sen to bear the blow. Little Serbia was selected 


15 


by “meinself und Gott” to be the place of the as- 
sassination of Franz Ferdinand of Austria and 
his consort by a crazy revolutionist, and care was 
taken that the demand for reparation and revenge 
should be couched in such an insulting way as not 
to be borne. 

Nothing Serbia could have said or done could 
have wiped out the injury of Sarajevo, for to the 
Central Powers it was not an injury. Franz Fer- 
dinand was sacrificed to the lust for ambition of 
his own nation and the haughtier nation dictating 
terms to it just as surely as Christ was sacrificed 
on the cross that the truth He taught might live. 
But Franz Ferdinand’s, unlike that Other’s, was a 
cause foredoomed. Conceived and born in self- 
ish cruelty, it was to live its horrid term, a mis- 
shapen, monstrous thing, and die a death as hor- 
rible. 

True, the Austrian heir-apparent had been the 
friend of Wilhelm, but what is a friend more or 
less when world dominion is the prize coveted? 
His death would bind to Wilhelm with hoops of 
steel the man who had always feared him, who 
had twice tried to get rid of him, Francis Joseph, 
Emperor of the nation to the southward. 

Franz Ferdinand sacrificed, the gage was 
thrown down — Germany threw off the mask ! The 
Kaiser renounced his adopted role of ‘‘the Peace 
Lord,” and for the first time showed himself to 
the world for what he was, a Man of Battles, a 
war-mad spirit ! On the east Germany struck out 
spitefully, pretending that Russia was ready to 
take up arms against her; on the south she rushed 
to aid her sister in guile, Austria ; and on the west, 
hoping for a quick route through France to Eng- 


16 


land, she sped to ravage peaceful Belgium, com- 
mitting crimes that in the annals of all history 
stand unchallenged in their monstrosity. 

And these were the commands of Wilhelm, 
transmitted through his faithful officers to men 
who had been carefully trained not to think, but 
merely to obey. For those crimes not those poor, 
fear-driven creatures, of scarcely more intelli- 
gence than the beasts of the field, shall be judged, 
but that brilliant, dominating, egotistical War- 
Lord, whose commands his soldiers have not 
known other than to obey. What new punish- 
ment, more subtle and more potent than any yet 
known to man, will the High Judge of Mankind 
devise to bring that proud nature to its knees? 

Forth marched the armies of the Kaiser to con- 
quest, all its man-power sent to gratify the ambi- 
tion of its heads for “a place in the sun.” How 
different from the ideals of that great American 
who has declared himself for the rights of peo- 
ples rather than for the rights of governments ! 
Who later, after careful deliberation and prayer- 
ful thought, called attention to “the menace and 
the actual power of a vast military establishment 
controlled by an irresponsible Government which, 
having secretly planned to dominate the world, 
proceeded to carry the plan out without regard 
either to the sacred obligations of treaty or the 
long-established practices and long-cherished prin- 
ciples of international action and honor; which 
chose its own time for the war; delivered its blow 
fiercely and suddenly; stopped at no barrier either 
of law or of mercy; swept a whole continent with 
the tide of blood — not the blood of soldiers only, 
but the blood of innocent women and children 


17 


also, and of the helpless poor; and now stands 
balked but not defeated, the enemy of four-fifths 
of the world.” 

Conrad Boehm went to war happy. His blood 
sang in his veins. For was not Vilma Liebrecht’s 
kiss on his lips, her promise in his heart, and her 
hastily plucked flowers stuck gaily in the muzzle 
of his rifle? 

And war was a man’s game. Poetical dream- 
ings were all well enough, but there was some- 
thing real about marching off like this, to do bat- 
tle “for country and for Kaiser.” In a month 
they would be in Paris. He would bring back 
something pretty for Vilma, and then they would 
be married. The war would be over, and they 
could spend their days in peace. But first — the 
glory of the battlefield. Oh, it was good to be a 
man, and a German ! Albert, now, and his peace- 
ful-minded professor-president across the sea, 
what did they know of real living? 

But what did they mean, those Belgians, by 
standing firm? Did they not realize it was the 
Kaiser’s will to sweep through to France, and 
thence to England? A treaty? Poof! what were 
treaties? Mere “scraps of paper,” to be kept as 
long as expedience warranted. That was the ex- 
press teaching of Frederick III. How much has 
his soul to answer for where it languishes ! 

Very well, if these Belgians withstood with 
force, give them force in return I Burn, hew 
down, ravage, butcher! “Those that take the 
sword shall perish by the sword.” Quote Scrip- 
ture to them. If the devil can quote Scripture for 
his purpose, why not the Kaiser? Give the sol- 
diers drink, sound the war-alarm on the trump- 


18 


ets, put hell into the souls of the men, that hell 
shall reign on earth! Make war as frightful as 
possible. It is the Kaiser’s express command. 

Somehow — unaccountably — the joy went out of 
Conrad Boehm’s heart. What was the matter? 
Had he not been trained and “goose-stepped” suf- 
ficiently? But surely this was not war, thought 
Conrad. These were not the gallant deeds of 
which he had dreamed. Fighting a foe in the open 
— some glory in that. But a mad scramble after 
defenceless girls, breaking into wine-cellars and 
drinking one’s self insensible, sticking bayonets 
into babies and old women as if they were so many 
pigs, all in the name of the Kaiser, this was not 
war. If his Herr Leutnant could have seen into 
Conrad’s mind at that moment, he would have 
been shot on the spot. That Leutnant was Ernst 
von Bohnen. 

“Well,” said Conrad to himself, “there’s one 
good thing. He’s here where I can watch him!” 
And on he swung with his regiment, further and 
further into the horrors of a war “made in Ger- 
many.” France, that brave spirit among the na- 
tions, and sturdy England, came to the rescue, and 
the forces of blood-lust and humanity were locked 
in a death-struggle. 

Across the Atlantic, Kitty Blake’s busy fingers 
were making garments for the stricken Belgians 
and Serbians, and her mother was engrossed in 
organizing relief societies. Wounded humanity 
appealed strongly to the women, and the attention 
of many men was first called to what was going on 
by the unusual demands made on their pocket- 
books in the relief work. 

A “pal” of Albert Brown’s took hurried leave 


19 


of him before going to Canada to enlist. 

‘‘Don’t you think you’re a bit speedy, George?” 
asked. Albert. “Seems to me it will be time enough 
when our own country goes into the fight. This 
thing that some of you fellows are doing looks to 
me like a distinct rap at the president for not de- 
claring war on Germany.” 

“I don’t mean it that way, Albert, old skate. 
The president is anxious to see whether a final 
breach can be avoided. He’s got the whole coun- 
try to think of. But I’ve got just myself, and I 
know where my duty lies. A man generally gets 
just about one chance to do a really big thing — I 
figure that this is my chance.” 

Six months later a list of Canadian wounded on 
the Western front included the name of George 
Downing, American. The U-boat victims had in- 
creased in number, and the methods of German 
warfare in “frightfulncss.” Poisoned gas had 
put in its appearance. Albert began to wish with 
all his heart that the patient man in the White 
House would decide to join the Allies. 


20 


CHAPTER V 


THE MARTYR FALLS 

Ernst von Bohnen was a true “Kaiser mann” 
— the type the Kaiser had always admired. In 
addition to riding well and shooting straight, he 
was admirably informed on all the current topics 
of the day, and he had made a hobby of medicine. 
He had never taken any degree in medicine, pre- 
ferring to adopt his ruler’s attitude of a learned 
amateur. That may have been the reason why he 
paid an unusual amount of attention to the hos- 
pitals of Brussels, in which city his regiment was 
quartered, and especially to that hospital in.which 
a frail Englishwoman labored day and night, with 
the utmost skill of her calling, to allay the suf- 
ferings of the wounded. 

To that hospital Conrad Boehm was brought, 
with a Belgian bullet in his shoulder. And there 
he came to know the tender ministry of Edith 
Cavell, and of pretty little Amy, with cheeks like 
the apple-blooms of her native England. As he 
lay there helpless but for the care of these noble 
women, they often reminded him of Vilma in their 
gentleness. He thanked God that Vilma was far 
away from the scenes he had witnessed and in 
which he had taken unwilling part since he had 
marched away with her flowers in his musket. 

One day when Amy came to change the dress- 
ing of his wound the tears were coursing down 
her cheeks. 


21 


^^Was fehlt dir, kleine?^^ asked Conrad. 
“What Is the matter?” 

She glanced around, as if in fear, to make sure 
no one was listening. “The General — Pm afraid. 
Louise Is gone, and now I ” 

“What’s the trouble? Isn’t Nurse Cavell sat- 
isfied with your work?” 

“Oh, that Isn’t It. I’m too pretty.” She said it 
simply, without coquetry. “I wish I had had 

small-pox. Von Bissing ” she began, but 

stopped suddenly, as the Letitnanf^ came 

to learn the condition of Boehm, who was one of 
his sharpshooters. 

Apparently, he did not even see her, but nothing 
ever escaped Ernst von Bohnen’s eagle eyes. 
Next day Amy was succeeded by a plainer girl, 
equally skilful — von Bissing had been robbed of 
his toy. The next time Lieutenant von Bohnen 
visited the hospital, he noted Amy’s absence, and 
asked for Nurse Cavell. 

“Where is your little assistant who was doing 
so much for my wounded friend here?” he asked. 

“She was suddenly taken 111,” was the calm an- 
swer of Nurse Cavell, as she looked steadily Into 
his eyes. 

“Sudden illness is sometimes fatal — in war 
times,” was his cryptic answer. And Edith Cavell 
knew that her time had come. 

Lieutenant von Bohnen raised himself high in 
the estimation of his commanding officer by his 
speedy report on the escape of a Belgian and a 
British soldier. Nurse Cavell, it appeared, had 
been using her sacred office as a cloak for the aid 
of enemies to His Majesty and the Imperial Ger- 
man Government. The punishment for such a 


22 


crime was death. It mattered little that Nurse 
Cavell knew the real crime for which she was be- 
ing sentenced — aiding innocent girls to escape 
from the clutches of war-lords. The Kaiser had 
refused to interfere with the ‘‘recreation” even of 
his common soldiers. Edith Cavell must die ! 

Conrad Boehm dared to speak a word of pity 
for the woman who had nursed him back to 
strength. 

**Kerir^ said von Bohnen. “You forget your- 
self!” For penalty he was ordered to take his 
place in the firing-squad, one of the six men repre- 
senting the six regiments quartered there. 

“You admire Nurse Cavell, an enemy to the 
Fatherland,” he sneered. “Very well. It will be 
your privilege to assist her toward an easy death.” 

As she stood there in the gray dawn, the stone 
wall at her back, more than one of the six wait- 
ing for the Heri' Leutnanf s sharp order to fire 
thought of the loftiness of the spirit with which 
she had tended not only the prisoners of her own 
nation, and of the Belgians among whom she had 
cast her lot, but also the men of their own num- 
ber, the all too brutal conquerors of the Belgians. 
To her, they had all been God’s children, and as 
such she had given them of her skill. ^ But the 
implacable demands of a brutish over-lord, balked 
of his prey, must be obeyed. 

The Herr Leutnant gave the command — six 
rifles barked loudly. Edith Cavell fell dead. 

Her face was calm as she lay there — she seemed 
to be at peace. Ernst von Bohnen felt somehow 
baffled. He felt that this dead woman was in 
some subtle way laughing at him. How dared 
she — perfect example of Prussian militarism that 


23 


he was! With a snarl of hate, he emptied all six 
shots of his revolver into the frail form that no 
longer quivered. Arch-stupidity of Kiiltur! 

Conrad lingered, amazed to see his usually im- 
perturbable superior officer so shaken out of his 
reserve; then saw him, in further desecration of 
the dead, stoop and tear off a piece of the woman’s 
dress as a souvenir, that he might prove to his 
fiancee, when he went home on furlough, what a 
great man he was. Von Bohnen rose. Directly 
above him, several inches from the spot where 
Nurse Cavell’s serene head had been offered as a 
target, was a bullet-hole. One of the men had 
fired wide of the mark. Every man Jack of them 
was a dead shot. It had been intentional. Pri- 
vate Boehm, now 

Catching von Bohnen’s eye, and realizing that 
he was suspected, Conrad dashed out of the 
open gate and up the street like mad. Von Boh- 
nen cursed his own idiocy for having fired all his 
shots at a dead woman. He summoned the guard, 
and his own comrades fired after Boehm’s re- 
treating, constantly dodging, figure. Conrad was 
wounded, but not seriously, and succeeded in 
finding shelter in an old cellar. He managed to 
obtain a change of clothes, and escaped from the 
city by night. After several days he finally 
reached Berlin — and Vilma. 


24 


CHAPTER VI 


THE UNPARDONABLE SIN 

In years to come, our children’s children will 
find it hard to believe that there once lived a na- 
tion which deliberately, of its own free will (or 
that of an insane Kaiser), stepped back into the 
ooze and slime of centuries gone, and all In the 
name of Kidtur became lower than the beasts. 
The “abomination” of Revelation has come to 
pass! Even the primitive passion of the brute 
is honorable and holy compared to the unnatural 
cruelty of the mandate of the Kaiser to repeople 
his Empire. 

News of the royal proclamation in regard to 
unmarried women had reached Vilma Liebrecht. 
She was supposed, like the others, to “do her 
duty,” and bear future soldiers for the Kaiser’s 
army. The proclamation had been sent to the 
men remaining at home, and to the soldiers at the 
front. Instructions were explicit as to their duty 
when they returned home on furlough. These 
are simple facts, and future readers of history 
will pale at them. 

Ernst von Bohnen, home on leave, was an “offi- 
cial father.” He asked to have his “territory” 
extended, and to such a gallant member of the 
Kaiser’s army — the news of his part in Edith 
Cavell’s death had preceded him, — nothing must 
be refused. He went to the house where Vilma 


25 


Liebrecht lived with her aged father. 

Honest, God-fearing Kurt Liebrecht did not 
understand these diabolical applications of the 
principle of Kiiltur, His Bible meant more to 
him than even the Kaiser’s proclamation. To 
him, right was right and wrong was wrong. He 
had loved his wife honestly, and his child was 
sacred. When Conrad Boehm reached the home 
of his beloved, expecting to clasp her to his 
breast, he found old Liebrecht dead in defense of 
his daughter’s honor, struck down by the hand of 
an “official father” who had obeyed the proclama- 
tion’s instruction, “by force if necessary.” 

Vilma, little blue-eyed Vilma, was dying. By 
a mighty effort of will, the man to whom she was 
dearer than life itself restrained his grief and his 
lamentations until he had learned the truth. 

“Vilma, little one, who has done this?” 

At first no sound issued from her lips. Then 
he made out the words, “The Herr Leutnant, 
But the Kaiser willed it.” 

She was exhausted from the effort, and he 
thought her spirit had passed. But again, sum- 
moning all her forces, she spoke, so softly that he 
was obliged to put his ear close to her lips. 
“Goodbye, Conrad. I have always — loved you.” 
Her head sank pitifully into the pillows — and was 
still. 

Then, indeed, did Conrad Boehm give way to 
his grief. He suffered as only a strong man can 
suffer who has seen the love of his life, his flower 
of all the universe, despoiled and defiled. 

ergiss-mem-nichtP^ he sobbed. “It made me 
tremble to think of taking you in all honor, — 
and a beast has defiled you.” 


26 


Raising himself to his full height, his face 
turned upward as if he would reach high heaven 
with his plea, Conrad Boehm, soldier of Ger- 
many, cried, ^^Gott strafe den Kaiser!^* 

The world has heard much of the tragedies of 
outraged womanhood. But it remained for Wil- 
helm II, the devil’s greater brother, to invent the 
crime of outraged manhood, foisting it, not upon 
strangers and aliens, but upon the soldiers fight- 
ing and dying for him on a bloody battle-field. 
What must be Wilhelm’s contempt for his own 
when he crams down his soldiers’ throats the fact 
that their sweethearts, wives, their very mothers 
have been commanded to bear ‘‘official” children? 
When these men are released from the grim urge 
of battle, if the spirit of manhood in Germany is 
not dead, these contemned warriors, finding their 
wives and daughters despoiled on their hearth- 
stones, will turn and rend the Arch Hun with 
their bare hands. “It will be better for him in 
that day if he had not been born.” 

Reverently Conrad drew the coverlet across 
the beloved face. He was now a rebel to the 
Kaiser. Never again should his hand be raised 
in defense of Kaiser or the Fatherland that sanc- 
tioned the spiritual destruction of its sons and 
daughters. Somewhere deep within him lurked 
the human desire to wreak vengeance on Ernst 
von Bohnen. But counsel whispered that that 
plan must await its opportunity. Just now, if dis- 
covered, he would be shot down like a dog for a 
deserter. 

And a deserter he was — a deserter from the 
unnatural teachings and practices of Kultur, 
With a price on his head, and danger lying in 


27 


wait for him at every step, Conrad managed to es- 
cape into Denmark. 

His plan was formed. He would go to his 
cousin Albert in America, renounce the country 
which had forsaken all ideals of decency and 
honor, and would become a citizen of that great 
republic which had advanced from being “a great 
experiment” to a tremendous triumphant reality. 


y 


28 


CHAPTER VII 


A NEW LAND AND A NEW HOPE 

t • 

“Cousin Conrad, by all that’s holy!” ex- 
claimed Albert Brown, as a rather battered-look- 
ing figure entered the architect’s office in lower 
New York where the young man was trying to 
convince a doubting world that he knew how its 
buildings should be made. ‘*AVhat brought you 
here?” 

“All that’s holy brought me here,” answered 
Conrad, without a trace of a smile. “I have seen 

things ” Ele said no more, but his eyes held 

unutterable horrors. 

“We have heard so,” said Albert gravely. 
“We had hoped they were not true.” 

“They are all true,” replied Conrad. But more 
definite than that he refused to be, and could not 
trust himself to speak of Vilma. “If you can 
get me work I shall be grateful. And I want to 
become a citizen. Your man Wilson was right.” 

Albert gave a whoop of joy. “Good for you, 
old top! But shake that German name.” And 
so it was as Conrad Bayme that he applied for 
his citizenship papers. 

Albert occasionally received enthusiastic let- 
ters from his old friend, George Downing, who 
had been one of the five per cent, of Americans 
with the first Canadian contingent. He wrote 
from a hospital “Somewhere in France.” 


29 


“When is America coming in?” he asked. 
“Why should she be a slacker among the na- 
tions?” 

And, truth to tell, the subject was beginning to 
be a sore one with Albert. 

“That man Wilson ” said Conrad. “When 

is he going to wake up?” 

“Don’t let anybody fool you,” replied Albert 
hotly. “He’s awake, all right. He’s slow, but 
he’s sure. But he’s an understudy to that original 
guy who said, ‘Be sure you’re right. Then go 
ahead.’ He wants to have the rights of it all on 
our side when we do go in. And he wants to be 
able to prove it. That’s the schoolmaster for 
you.” 

“Schoolmasters!” mused Conrad. “Again they 
are the deciding factor in the world’s counsels. 
Nietzsche, Delbriick It’s well for the na- 

tion when they are right, but bad for the nation 
counseled by school masters who have lost hold 
on God.” 

“Gee! Conrad, but you’re a serious-minded 
chap.” 

“I am no longer a youth. True, I am twenty- 
five — just your own age — buf I shall never think 
or act as a youth again. I have been face to face 
with the most grim realities a man ever had to 
bear — a man in whom all hope is dead. That is 
the Kaiser’s work — that is the Germany of to-day, 
which has betrayed the former high ideals of its 
people. But don’t let me be a damper on your 
spirits, and shame your generous hospitality. 
Come on, let’s go see a ball game.” 

Never again by word or look did Conrad refer 
to the horrors through which he had passed. He 


30 


felt he had no right to inflict his bitter memories 
upon these kind American friends. But he sel- 
dom smiled. Kitty Blake’s mother was the only 
one who seemed able to penetrate beneath the 
surface of his reserve. In the darkened corner 
of the veranda, sometimes in the evening, he 
would sit on the floor at her feet, while she talked 
cheerily of simple, pleasant things, and once when 
he suddenly caught her hand in his and carried it 
to his lips murmuring ^^Mutterclien/^ she never 
told that his face was wet with tears. 

Conrad tried to throw himself heart and soul 
into the life and spirit of the land of his adop- 
tion. He chose his political party and affiliated 
himself with it. 

‘‘Why don’t you make speeches, and tell what 
you’ve been through?” Albert urged him. To all 
such requests Conrad shook his head. 

“No, I’ve adopted your president along with 
your country,” he said, smiling, “and he has asked 
us to be neutral. Little he knows what a hard job 
it is for a man like me, who knows what I know, 
but — I’ll do the best I can. And I don’t want to 
be classed with the wrong kind of soapbox ora- 
tors.” 

However, at the president’s critical reference 
to “out-and-out pacifists,” he rejoiced, and when 
substantiated tales of German atrocities caused a 
wa%e of revulsion through the land, he thanked 
God for the vision and the idealism of a man who 
could say, as the president did in a ringing speech 
at Chicago, “We have been cried awake by these 
voices in the disturbed and reddened night, when 
fire sweeps sullenly from continent to continent; 
and it may be that in this red flame of light there 


31 


will rise again that ideal figure of America hold- 
ing up her hand of hope and of guidance to the 
people of the world.” 

Here was a man of peace, a man passionately 
desiring the welfare not only of his own country- 
men, but of the whole world, a man of long-suffer- 
ing patience, but a man who when that patience 
had been too long insulted could lead his hosts 
to battle in mighty indignation. 

The images of two men arose in Conrad’s 
vision — one gfeat in peace, the other mighty in 
war-making; one trying to conserve the rights of 
humanity, the other crushing them in his mailed 
hand; Wilson, the self-respecting representative 
of a self-respecting nation, and Wilhelm II, of 
the House of Hohenzollern, dominating war-lord 
of a cowed people. 

Wilson or the Kaiser? To which did any hon- 
est man owe allegiance? Conrad knew that he 
had chosen wisely. 

‘Tver since we were born as a nation,” Wil- 
son had said, “we have undertaken to be the 
champions of humanity and the rights of men. 
Without that ideal there would be nothing that 
would distinguish America from her predeces- 
sors in the history of nations.” 

Conrad drew a deep breath. It was good be 
alive, with a right to think his own thoughts. It 
was good to be a member of a nation of altru- 
ists, a nation of which each man and woman is a 
vital part. “The theory of government which I 
decline to subscribe to,” had said that great man 
at Washington, “is that the vitality of the nation 


32 


comes out of the closeted councils where a few 
men determine the policy of the country.” Truly, 
after the storm and ^tress, the heartbreak of 
Europe, it was good to be alive in free America ! 



33 


CHAPTER VIII 


A WEDDING IN KHAKI 

Conrad Bayme was jubilant when the United 
States declared war upon Germany! After all 
the protests and warnings against the ^^Schreck- 
lichkeif^ of ruthless submarine warfare and the 
denying of the rights of neutrals to travel upon 
the high seas, the inevitable had happened. Con- 
rad was like a man released from prison. He 
knew now what it was he had wanted all the 
time. He wanted to fight, to be one of the first 
Americans — he raised his head proudly at the 
word — to give actual proof of the faith that was 
in him. 

“Come on, then, if you feel that way about it,” 
his cousin Albert said cheerfully, “we’ll go down 
to the recruiting office together. But I should 
think, with all your information, you could be a 
lot of help as a spy.” 

“I shall be glad to lay whatever information 
I have before the authorities,” answered Conrad, 
“but I’ve seen enough of espionage to last me a 
lifetime. No, this devil that the Imperial Ger- 
man government has raised within me can be 
downed by just one thing — and that is, war to the 
death with the power that has brought it into be- 
ing. It’s a case of being cured by a hair of the 
dog that bit you,” he laughed. “No, seriously, 
Albert, I’ve had a taste of fighting like a Hun. 


34 


Now I want to fight like a white man.’’ 

‘‘I have the honor,” said Albert after they 
had been measured for their uniforms, “to invite 
you to a wedding. Consider this a gilt-edged in- 
vitation, since there isn’t time to have any en- 
graved.” 

“Has Kitty ?” 

“Yes. I didn’t have the heart, but she insisted. 
You’re to be best man, and it will be strictly a 
khaki wedding.” 

It was true. Kitty had insisted. 

“You know I love you, Kitty,” Albert had said 
after he had taken his physical examination, and 
had been accepted. “You must always have 
known it. But going away like this — I haven’t 
the right ” 

“You haven’t the right to do anything else, 
Albert Brown.” 

“But, Kitty darling, the risks are too 
great ” 

“The risks are too great for me to permit you 
to go away without the love of a wife in your 

heart, and memories Oh, Albert!” she flew 

into his arms, and they clung together in min- 
gled happiness and grief. Finally she released 
herself gently, and gave a happy little laugh. 

“Besides, dear, you surely couldn’t expect me 
to be an old maid. Do you mind if your bride 
wears one of last year’s dresses? There may not 
be time to have one made — and we must econo- 
mize.” 

“Say, I’ll be walking on air, I shall not even 
see the dress. You know I never know what you 
have on. But are we doing the wise thing? I’m 
afraid for you, dear ” 


35 


“ril be more afraid for myself if we don’t,” 
she answered stoutly. “There would be a loneli- 
ness in my heart that nothing could help. And as 
far as you’re concerned, I want you to know that 
I’ll ‘Keep the home fires burning.’ Besides, just 
think of the letters, chocolate, and socks you’re 
going to get.” 

“Well, go easy on the socks and chocolate, if 
you like, so long as I get the letters. And don’t 
forget poor Conrad. He’ll be wanting some let- 
ters, too.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about Conrad. Mother has 
already adopted him as her soldier son. He’ll 
have fifty pounds of sweaters alone. I’m positive.” 

Albert and Conrad were assigned to a near-by 
camp, and were lucky enough to obtain leave to- 
gether, so that the new citizen could be present at 
the wedding of his comrade-in-arms. It was a 
real war-wedding, without undue fuss and frills. 
Kitty, as she had indicated, wore a pretty white 
dress, simple and inexpensive, but the light in her 
eyes and the flush in her cheeks needed no further 
adornment. 

On the arm of her soldier-bridegroom, greet- 
ing their little circle of guests in the old-fashioned 
parlor of her mother’s home, she was just a happy 
American bride, her nature awakened to a new 
sense of responsibility by the serious purpose 
which now ruled the lives and hearts of the na- 
tion’s patriots. The hour was a bitter one for 
Conrad. In his ‘mind’s eye he saw Vilma, his lit- 
tle “Forget-me-not,” and the wreath of bridal 
flowers he had hoped to place on her flaxen hair. 
But Vilma, the true, pure soul of Vilma, walked 
in the pastures of God. 


36 


Oh, the glory of that day when, with their reg- 
iment, the two cousins, alien in birth but one in 
high purpose, marched down Fifth Avenue be- 
tween crowds upon crowds of enthusiastic, cheer- 
ing citizens, their souls aflame with the sacred fire 
of patriotism ! 

Albert and Kitty had said their good-byes, and 
now she turned a smiling, courageous face toward 
those marching thousands, watching for her young 
husband — her man. Suddenly — she caught sight 
of him, and smiled and waved as long as the 
marching ranks permitted him to see her. Then 
she broke down, and laying her head on her 
mother’s shoulder, unashamed, before the multi- 
tude, let the tears have their way. 

“Take me home,” she pleaded like a tired child. 
“I don’t want people to see me cry — they’ll think 
I’m a slacker.” 

So while the bands were playing “Over There,” 
and all the world was cheering the entrance of 
American troops into the actual struggle, the girl- 
bride crept wearily homeward, that no resolution 
be weakened, that no one’s heart should feel sor- 
row for her tears, that her personal grief should 
be sunk in the larger sense of duty. 

That night Kitty wrote her first letter to her 
soldier-husband, a letter of loving messages filled 
with the kind of cheer that puts spirit into a man, 
and gives him the heart and the will to fight for 
his country and the brave women at home. 


37 


CHAPTER IX 


‘‘the yanks are coming!” 

On the transport that bore them away, the men i 
joked about capturing Huns and helmets; joked 
about the camouflage of their convoy; joked about 
their own attacks of seasickness. But there was 
one man who did not joke. That was the man 
called Conrad Bayme, now returning to the land 
from which he had escaped as Conrad Boehm. 

Meaning and grim purpose were in every set 
line on his face, young in years, but old in misery 
and determination. And his cousin Albert made 
no attempt to wipe away that cloud on his counte- 
nance, for he knew that behind it was an implac- 
able hate, a desire for revenge that would not be 
denied. 

“Where do we go from here, boys. 

Where do we go from here?” ' 

English rain, nor French mud, nor animal-cars 
for eight horses, destined for the transporting of 
forty men, could dampen the spirits of these Yan- 
kee lads. 

“Just show us Fritzie!” they cried. “Let’s get 
a good look at him. All the way over not a sub- 
marine worth mentioning, and now not a Hun in , 
sight. Tough luck!” 

For they were in a “quiet sector” at first — be- 
ing gradually made familiar with the newer ways ' 
of the battle-field. They learned the intricacies" 


38 


of trench warfare, the beauty — and the danger — 
of the flare-lights by which ‘‘Fritz” sees to send a 
rain of shells and shrapnel by night; they learned 
that delay in putting on a gas mask is deadly. 
They learned how to use the bayonet, and to use 
it quick and well, lest worse than death befall. 

All his information Conrad had promptly 
placed in the hands of his superiors. Enlisting as 
a private, he was soon raised to the rank of “top 
sergeant.” He could have had a commission, but 
the grim business to which he had set his purpose 
brooked of no delay. Conrad Bayme was pray- 
ing — praying with the sincerity learned at his 
mother’s knee and the inflexible singleness of pur- 
pose of a madman, that his enemy should be de- 
livered into his hands, that his strength and skill 
should be pitted against that of Ernst von Boh- 
nen. He prayed that no Allied bullet should find 
its target in the monster’s body, robbing him of 
his revenge. 

Suddenly he realized that there was a certain 
grim beauty about his having left the hordes of 
the Kaiser to battle for right and freedom, and 
(half-mad, if you will) he demanded of the Most 
High God a payment. In that moment he felt he 
had a right to make terms with his Creator. 

“Give him into my hands!” he cried, his gaze 
seeking the leaden sky. And it seemed to him 
that the Lord of Hosts made answer, — had sent 
a message straight to his soul. Henceforth, Con- 
rad Bayme was a happy man. He sought dan- 
gers, believing that he led a charmed life, as in- 
deed it seemed. He was convinced that he should 
not die until Ernst von Bohnen, the hated ‘‘Herr 
Leiitnanf^ of Brussels, had paid the penalty of 
his crimes with death. 


39 


Then came the day when the Yankee ‘‘dough- 
boys” went wild with joy over the order for a 
picked number of Americans to join the French, 
and bolster up an Allied attack. Gallantly they 
did their duty, acquitting themselves nobly as sol- 
diers and as men. Skilfully were the hand gren- 
ades thrown, just soon enough, and not too soon, 
so that the “Boches” should not have time to hurl 
them back in time to do damage to the Allied 
ranks. 

Deftly, snapplly went the bayonet work, and on 
rushed the “doughboys” with a will. * Such sheer 
young gladness in battle had never been known 
before on any fighting front. The gaiety of the 
Americans was refreshing to their more seasoned 
French and English comrades. The Yankees had 
not been saddened by large numbers of their own 
men slain, their homes burned and pillaged, their 
wives and children preys to the bestial Hun. Not 
yet were they fighting the desperate battle for 
their own. 

“We are fighting,” the great patriot in Wash- 
ington had said, “for the liberty, self-government 
and the undictated development of all peoples, 
and every feature of the settlement that concludes 
this war must be conceived and executed for that 
purpose.” 

Day after day Conrad Bayme watched and 
listened for news of Ernst von Bohnen, praying 
that the Prussian’s regiment might be opposed to 
the forces of which he was a part. This was the 
easier for him to accomplish since for conspicuous 
bravery, as well as for his understanding of the 
German language, he had been made a liaison 
officer. 


40 


CHAPTER X 


JUSTICE IS DONE 

And at last the hoped-for happened. The foe, 
suffering heavy reverses, had called up reinforce- 
ments, and Ernest von Bohnen’s regiment lay en- 
trenched before the little French town, sending 
forth, on that glorious autumn day, the shell-fire 
of ‘‘morning hate” so dear to the heart of the 
Prussian. 

“God, Thou has redeemed Thy pledge,” 
breathed Conrad. “Thou hast delivered Thine 
enemy and mine into my hands.” He did not 
doubt for a moment that the chances of battle 
would give him the opportunity he craved. And 
perhaps since great faith is its owm surest road to 
fulfillment, the chance came ! 

Conrad had delivered his message to his com- 
manding officer, and had begun to retrace his 
steps, threading his way past his fellows through 
the trenches, when following their own barrage 
fire, a party of “Boches” advanced. Ernst von 
Bohnen was leading a detachment of them. Con- 
rad stopped short in his journey back to the lines. 
This was his fight! Some one else might carry 
messages — He might be shot for disobeying 
orders — well, let them shoot and welcome. He 
should have had his revenge. 

Over the top they went with a yell — those 
young American “huskies.” And over the top 


41 


went Conrad Bayme, every lithe inch of him eager 
for the encounter, his eyes on the man who was 
to feel the cold steel of his bayonet, clear through 
his dirty flesh. To the right and left of Conrad 
his comrades, with Albert, his cousin, among 
them, were grappling hand to hand with the foe, 
despatching them speedily, or, just as speedily 
falling victim to them. A few young Teutons 
Conrad thrust impatiently aside. When they in- 
terfered with him, or blocked his progress toward 
von Bohnen he killed them. But he did not de- 
viate by so much as a hair’s breadth from the path 
to his goal. 

The ^^Herr Leutnanf^ suddenly realized him- 
self to be the objective of this long-limbed Yan- 
kee, and stood ready to deal death to the impu- 
dent hound. Then, as he looked full into Con- 
rad’s eyes, he knew him for a German, and recog- 
nized him as the sweetheart of the girl he had 
despoiled. In one fear-strangled moment the 
events of years raced across his brain, as a drown- 
ing man remembers all the events of his life. He 
saw again the wall of St. Gilles prison in Brussels, 
where noble Edith Cavell’s dead body had re- 
ceived insult at his hand; he saw flaxen-haired 
Vilma Liebrecht, pleading piteously, and her stern 
old father come forth to receive his death. In 
Conrad’s eyes he read his death sentence, and 
knew that from that sentence there would be no 
appeal. One last effort he made, before his craven 
soul accepted the impending disaster. 

^^Kamerad!^^ shouted Ernst von Bohnen. 

“Ah-h!” breathed Conrad, in disgust — and ran 
him through. 

His task fulfilled, his mission ended, Conrad 


42 


was as one dazed, taking little thought for his own 
life. He offered no resistance to the German ser- 
geant who shot him down — seemed not to see him 
approaching. His comrades recovered his body 
— it was Albert who found him lying wounded. 

**VergisS’mein-nichty^ he murmured, as he lay 
with his face to the sky. “Little Vilmo ! Pm 
coming!” 

Conrad Bayme, true-hearted American and 
brave warrior, had killed the man, but what of the 
master? What of that Wilhelm of Hohenzol- 
lern, whose base commands have thrust Germany 
so far below the level of mankind that she will 
rise with the utmost difficulty — if, indeed, she ever 
rises? What of the Kaiser? 

Conrad Bayme lies dead, but Albert Browm and 
his gallant comrades, both of America and of her 
Allies, are fighting on, not in a spirit of revenge 
for a private grief, but reverently, with bull-dog 
determination to win, for the high cause of hu- 
manity and decency. 

If that victory is not won, the earth, now, due 
to Prussian ambition, over a wide territory a 
shambles, will be given over to a rule that laughs 
at woman’s purity and man’s honor, and that 
breeds little children simply to make them the 
pawns in the great game he wishes to play with 
the Universe. Until he and his kind are forever 
vanquished, the struggle must go on, and each 
man, in his inmost heart, must make the choice be- 
tween the powers of Darkness and the powers of 
Light — must choose between the ideals of Wilson 
and the Kaiser. 

THE END 


43 



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